


beautiful world

by jikkyuu



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26015683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jikkyuu/pseuds/jikkyuu
Summary: “Running away, Mr. Fraldarius?”All of sudden, everyone’s eyes are on him.He doesn’t give a damn about Sylvain's little mind games. He could leave without replying, other people’s opinions of him be damned, but the words spill out of his mouth before he’s even aware of it. “...No. I just couldn’t stand your shitty performance. Not when you could’ve taken them out a lot quicker.”The tension in the air is unbearable.“Maybe I could have, or maybe your imaginary tactics are crap,” Sylvain replies. “So how about you come down here and we’ll test your theory, hmm? Mr. Fraldarius.”“Fuck you,” is Felix’s last eloquent reply before leaving the combat room.---After Faerghus Shatterdome's fall, Marshal Fraldarius and his son are forced to seek refuge in Almyra. Felix, scarred by experiencing his brother's death during the drift, vows never to pilot a Jaeger again; but a chance encounter with his childhood friend and Almyra's omnicompatible Ranger, Sylvain Gautier, might be enough to change everything.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 26
Kudos: 131
Collections: Sylvix Big Bang





	beautiful world

**Author's Note:**

> the last few months have definitely been a journey. it's my first story after a long hiatus, and the longest standalone piece i ever wrote for any fandom. i have to admit that the beginnings were terrifying, really, but after all is said and done, i'm really happy i made it to the end.
> 
> huge thanks to my bigbang partner and a wonderful artist [MJ](https://twitter.com/papaphinks) who ran with my weird ideas and turned them into the most beautiful piece of art!
> 
> also, i probably would have dropped out after a month without sylwia - my best friend, beta reader, slave driver, motivator and enabler. thanks for sticking with my sorry ass for so long.
> 
> if you'd like to listen to the music that accompanied me during writing, here's my [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL05W0ydPvhqACPWV9v8j0512f1G7S2Pgb)!

_ もしも願い一つだけ叶うなら _

_ 君の側で眠らせて どんな場所でもいいよ _

utada hikaru 「beautiful world」

* * *

No matter how Felix looks at it, Almyra Shatterdome is an almost exact copy of Faerghus.

The scorching midday sun illuminates the same ugly greys and blacks of its outer walls and landing zone, contrasted by the deep turquoise of the sea. Despite his dislike for the war, kaiju and the Defense Corps in general, he can’t deny it _feels_ like home. It gives him a sense of safety and belonging, no matter how fleeting it might be.

However, the moment he and Rodrigue step out of the aircraft they’re met with a sunny smile that disrupts the illusion - due to the simple fact that it shouldn’t exist in the grim reality they live in.

“Welcome to Almyra, Marshal Fraldarius. It’s an honor to finally meet you.'' Based on physical appearance alone the man shouldn’t be much older than Felix, yet thanks to the permanent grin plastered on his lips he seems much younger. He extends his hand for a handshake. “Claude von Riegan, temporarily in charge of this place. I’m glad that you made it here safely, sir.”

Rodrigue, as soft as ever, accepts it with a small smile of his own. “I wish we could’ve met under better circumstances, officer, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

Claude's eyes focus on Felix next. “And that must be…”

“Felix Fraldarius. Engineer,” he introduces himself as short as possible.

There’s no need for friendliness when they’re going to die either way, sooner or later.

Claude might have replied to that but Felix zones out of the conversation, disinterested. Instead, he focuses on their surroundings; the warm rays of sun feel foreign and the temperature here is way too high, compared to the snowy Faerghus. Still, if he concentrates only on the soft sound of the sea and the familiar saltiness of the air, he can almost feel Glenn

Almost.

_Felix, please, run._

Despite the surrounding warmth, he shudders at the ghost of a memory.

After a while they finally start to walk inside and despite his earlier conviction to care as little as possible, Felix can’t help but look around. His earlier guess turns out to be true - Almyra is similar to Faerghus, and possibly every other Shatterdome in this part of the globe. Sturdy gates, metal walls, locks in the exact same places, the grime of the floors, the layout of the rooms; even the air tastes the same.

Felix huffs, exasperated. For some reason the lack of variety pisses him off.

And if it’s actually the inability to run away from the past, he won’t let that in.

Claude, as if reading his mind, doesn’t let him dwell in his thoughts for long. They step into the hangar and Felix finally finds the difference he so longed for.

Jaegers.

"These beauties are our pride and joy,” Claude says with a toothy grin, gesturing towards the machines. “Two Mark-4’s, one Mark-3. I know, might seem old compared to Adrestia’s recently released Mark-5 but you’ll be surprised what magic our team did by upgrading that one.” He winks and Felix feels like he wants to punch the wall. “Let’s get closer, I’ll introduce you to the pilots.”

It's the last thing Felix wants to do, but before he’s able to voice any complaints they’re already in front of the first Jaeger. He has to admit, from up close Asha Vahishta looks impressive, its revamped frame in top condition despite years of active service. The pilots, Byleth and Emile, are both quiet, sparing them only a handful of words. There's an air of mutual understanding between them, this distinctive, almost palatable sensation of knowing the other person inside and out that occurs only between pilots who’s been together for a long time.

Felix tries to ignore the painful throbbing in his chest as they move on to the next machine.

Vohu Manah, one model younger, is smaller and leaner than the bulky Asha, and therefore much faster. Based on Claude’s words, while Byleth and Emile seem to rely on sheer force, Dorothea and Petra prefer to use more intricate tactics, taking full advantage of their Jaeger’s specs. To Felix’s dismay, they’re also much friendlier than the male duo, insisting on more unnecessary chitchat than he would have liked.

When they finally make it through to the last machine and his eyes wander to the redhead pilot sitting next to it, Felix's brain freezes.

“Hey there, Claude. Doing rounds with the guests now?” The syrupy sweet voice doesn’t match the bruised face and broken arm of its owner.

Felix’s eyes widen as he takes in the peculiar red hair and a cheerful smile that he hasn’t seen in years. He stops further in the back, hiding behind the tall backs of Claude and his father, trying to process just what exactly is going on.

“Sylvain.” Claude, for once, sounds more solemn. “I thought Mercedes was still keeping you at the infirmary. You’re in no state to train.”

“Aww, worried about me? That's sweet,” Sylvain replies with ease and stands up; for a short moment there’s a slight wince on his face but it is soon replaced by his signature smile as his attention shifts to Rodrigue. “I wanted to greet you as soon as possible, Marshal. Even though I’m not sure you still remember me.”

Rodrigue finally seems to realize the same thing as Felix. “Sylvain… Gautier?” he asks, dumbfounded, and reaches to put a hand on his shoulder. “I haven’t seen you in ages. Your father decided to leave Faerghus so suddenly... Goddess, how long has it been?”

“Thirteen years,” Felix chips in, voice cold and dripping with disdain.

At last Sylvain notices him and meets his gaze; his smile is more strained, like looking at Felix physically hurts him. And Felix sure hopes it does.

“Felix—”

“Don’t you dare, you—”

Before any of them manage to make the situation even worse, Claude steps in front of Sylvain, hands raised.

“I see you have some history. I believe it will be the best for us all," he gives a pointed look to Felix and Sylvain, “to cool down before throwing accusations. There will be time for you to talk it through.”

Felix huffs in reply and averts his eyes, hands clenched into fists. Rodrigue smiles apologetically. Sylvain shuffles from one foot to another, wincing with every move.

“What you need to know is that Sylvain is the main pilot of Spenta Armaiti.” Claude continues in a neutral voice. “He’s also an incredibly valuable asset to the team, being the only pilot so far with the functioning omnicompatibility.”

The sudden information grabs the interest of both newcomers. “…I thought it was only possible in theory,” Rodrigue says carefully. “How does it work?”

Claude glances at the redhead; when the man in question replies with a curt nod, he continues with the explanation: “Like the name suggests, he is able to establish a fully operative neural handshake with most of the population. His ability allows us to… well, to pair him up with any other available pilots if needed.”

Of course, Rodrigue’s reaction is as ecstatic as Felix expected it to be.

“Sylvain, that’s… This could change everything about the war.” He sounds almost as happy as when he’s saying that _Glenn died like a true soldier_ or _he sacrificed himself for the greater good_. “You’re a genius.”

“I’m not." Sylvain’s reply is almost emotionless. “And it doesn’t work with everyone.”

“It’s still a wonderful ability.” Rodrigue lets out an exhale. “All the possibilities—”

Felix’s anger reaches its limit. He looks at the person wearing his friend’s face and feels like it’s somebody else, a stranger occupying Sylvain’s body. “So that's what kept you busy for the last fucking decade? Whoring your mind around?”

Sylvain still smiles, but with every passing second it feels even more distant.

“We’re at war. We’re doing what we can to survive.” Claude once again steps between them, a scowl on his face as he addresses Felix. “I would appreciate it if you kept your personal opinions to yourself, Felix. You might be Marshal’s son, but I won’t tolerate blatant hostility towards my team, rank and position be damned.”

This version of Claude - still not openly angry, but visibly annoyed and protective - is so different from the charming persona that greeted them at the deck. It’s enough for Felix to huff in exasperation and back off.

“I'm sorry for my son,” Rodrigue chips in, his voice laced heavily with apology. “Drift is a… touchy subject, I fear.”

The rest of the conversation is disrupted by the sudden entrance of a blond-haired woman in a medic uniform. She nods at them in a greeting, then quickly moves to Sylvain’s side, a disappointed grimace visible on her face as she ushers him to sit back on a wheelchair.

“I know you must have a lot of questions, sir, but I also believe you must be tired after a long flight.” Claude changes the topic smoothly, trying to dissolve the tension. “Let me show you to your rooms.”

Before he trails after Claude, Felix turns back again, his eyes following Sylvain's retreating figure.

* * *

It’s easy to fall into the daily routine again, since Felix likes the stability and repeatability it provides. It doesn’t take him long to become familiar with the way things are done in Almyra, and soon enough he’s added as a full-time member of the engineering team. Everyone is pretty easy to deal with, only focused on work and no bullshit; even Lysithea, the head of the J-Tech, always gets straight to the point and doesn’t like unnecessary chatter.

Felix welcomes that with relief.

Engineers are much better than pilots - he knew that already but it proves even truer here, with Sylvain Gautier around. 

The worst thing about being reconnected so suddenly with his childhood friend - a friend he thought might not even be alive anymore, given his sudden disappearance and the complete lack of contact whatsoever - is the uncertainty. Despite trying to detach himself from this mess and not caring about their sudden reunion, Felix can’t stop himself from wondering:

What happened? Why did the Gautiers have to leave? Has Sylvain ever thought about him as much as Felix did about him? When did he become a pilot and why has nobody ever talked about this?

The Rangers are all well-known, the news broadcasting their faces and deeds with the passion they usually reserve for celebrities. He still remembers seeing his own face on the TV for the first time - his photo right next to Glenn’s, the eye-catching headline calling them the “heroes of Rhodos Coast” and journalists praising their abilities. And all they did, really, was just their job.

Felix might loathe omnicompatibility all he wants but he can’t deny it’s baffling that someone as special as Sylvain has not been presented to the world.

To make things worse, he can’t help but notice the drastic change in Sylvain’s behavior.

They might’ve not seen each other for more than a decade but Felix knows that those sunny, easygoing smiles that he sees Sylvain throwing at everyone are not real. There’s a faint sense of dejection and emptiness in everything he does, like he’s playing a role and none of that matters. The difference from the past is so jarring that Felix can’t help but flinch.

On top of that, the redhead decided to forget that both their childhood and the meeting at the hangar even took place. Whenever they cross paths, Sylvain treats him like a stranger; he wears the same fake smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, gives him a wave and leaves without a word. Felix knows that some of the fault lies on his side - he wasn’t exactly welcoming during their reunion, throwing words much sharper and aggressive than he intended. Still, Sylvain hasn’t even tried to reach out to him afterwards, or given him a chance to sort things out.

How did the 9-year-old ray of sunshine who kept him warm during the long, cold winters of Faerghus transform into the detached Jaeger pilot burying his true feelings under the mask of false happiness?

Felix still holds a grudge, so he grimaces and turns away.

Two can play that game. If Sylvain wants to be like this, fine. He won’t ask.

Instead, he goes to the Combat Room and channels his fury into punches that make a beautiful mess out of as many dummies as possible.

Despite his current occupation, Felix keeps training as an integral part of his schedule. Fighting has always been a part of him, and even though he outright refuses to drift anymore, he wants to stay in shape. Not for the “greater good of Defense Corps”, like his father likes to say, but for himself and his selfish need to find a semblance of normalcy.

Training is normal. When he’s sweating from exercise, every muscle in his body aching and crying for him to stop, when he’s too tired to think about Glenn, Rodrigue, Sylvain - that’s when everything feels alright.

After a couple of days, Felix manages to figure out when no one else is around so he can have the whole Combat Room for himself. He’s in luck; around the time when he finishes at J-Tech, the Rangers leave for simulation training and Kwoon is empty. It gives him a solid two hours of peace, away from prying eyes.

That’s why it’s startling when two weeks into the routine Felix stops by and the room is full of people, loudly cheering on.

“What the fuck,” he mutters under his breath, perplexed.

“Sylvain’s at it again,” Lysithea's familiar voice prompts helpfully as she joins him. Felix's confusion grows as he notices other J-Tech members around, even those who make it their goal in life to never set their feet in the combat room. “He’s doing his usual rookie training schtick. I suppose no one told you about it before?”

“Obviously,” Felix replies bluntly.

The white-haired girl smiles, amused by his usual display of defiance; she doesn’t call it out, though, going straight to the topic at hand. “Come, let’s get you to the front. You’ll understand better once you see it.”

They push through the crowd until they have a clear view of the sparring area. Felix's eyes instantly focus on the mop of red hair right in the middle of it, surrounded by fifteen other people, give or take. They all hold various types of weapons in their hands and look at Sylvain with hesitation. Even without Lysithea’s explanation it’s clear that they’re rookies.

“Don’t look so scared.” Sylvain's voice is calm and almost soothing as he addresses the young pilots. “I told you it’s fine. Just come at me.”

The group still doesn’t look convinced - until one of the girls, a tall blonde with a wooden training sword, rushes forward, ready to strike Sylvain from the back.

Felix’s eyes widen as the redhead has the fucking audacity to smirk right before flawlessly blocking her strike; it takes one more move and his bo staff is at her neck. “Gotcha,” he singsongs, ever the flirt.

Lysithea laughs next to Felix, amused. “It's a bit of an Almyran tradition, really,” she narrates as they watch the girl resume the spar with renewed vigour, clearly ignited by Sylvain's goddamn smirk. Soon, other recruits join them, and if Felix didn’t know any better he’d say that the fight is staged - the synchronization between Sylvain and the rest is that astonishing. “It’s easier to make them feel what drift compatibility is, instead of trying to describe it in words. And since Sylvain loves the drama, he just sparrs with all of them at the same time.”

“Attention-seeking bastard,” Felix says, but without his usual bite; he’s far too engrossed in what’s happening in the sparring area to even notice.

“More like an efficient bastard.” Lysithea nods her head, humming. “Imagine fighting them one by one. It would take hours.”

Felix huffs, not gracing her with an answer. He'd rather die than agree with Sylvain's ideas.

Looking at the arena, though, it’s hard to criticize his performance, as much as it pains him to admit. His movements are swift and efficient, almost dance-like; he also handles the bo staff with such ease like it’s the extension of himself and not a weapon. Step after step, he leaves the rookies just as astonished.

Because, of course, the omnicompatible jerk makes them feel the connection.

How could he not when even Felix, just standing here, feels the same?

As if answering his call, Sylvain's eyes find him from across the room. For a second, his smile is softer, the corners of his mouth curled ever so slightly, without the usual tension behind them.

The sense of lightning coursing through his veins is awfully familiar and brings back another memory.

_Felix! Felix, we match! We can drift together!_

When the realization hits, there’s only one way that Felix knows of how to handle this, or any emotion that makes him uncomfortable.

Run.

But as he turns around, adamant on leaving the fuck out of here and preferably not meeting Sylvain again, there’s Sylvain’s annoying voice calling out to him.

“Running away, Mr. Fraldarius?”

All of sudden, everyone’s eyes are on him.

He doesn’t give a damn about Sylvain's little mind games. He could leave without replying, other people’s opinions of him be damned, but the words spill out of his mouth before he’s even aware of it. “...No. I just couldn’t stand your shitty performance. Not when you could’ve taken them out a lot quicker.”

The tension in the air is unbearable.

“Maybe I could have, or maybe your imaginary tactics are crap,” Sylvain replies. “So how about you come down here and we’ll test your theory, hmm? Mr. Fraldarius.”

“Fuck you,” is Felix’s last eloquent reply before leaving the combat room.

* * *

After the rookie training fight, Felix keeps avoiding Sylvain a little harder than before.

To be honest, Felix can do a great job of running away when he wants to. It’s easier not to address his feelings at all - be it those towards Sylvain or those towards drifting. He's been doing exactly that ever since Sylvain’s disappearance and Glenn’s death, and it works… As well as ignoring the elephant in the room can.

He’s never been good at emotions and now doesn’t feel like a time to change that. Also, if Sylvain ever decides he wants to talk, he will eventually figure out where to find him. He always could when they were kids.

With that in mind, it shouldn’t surprise Felix so much to see Sylvain standing right in front of his canteen table, equipped with his signature grin and a food tray.

“Mr. Fraldarius,” he greets in an overly polite voice, the stupid name rolling off his tongue with ease; Felix already wants to punch him in the face. “Is this seat free?”

Of course it is and of fucking course Felix won’t admit that. Sylvain doesn’t need an answer, though, as he sets down his tray despite the obvious glower from across the table.

“Easy now,” the redhead continues, undeterred by both the lack of response and Felix shooting daggers at him. “I came in peace.”

“Do I look like I care?”

“Well.” Sylvain takes a seat and folds his hands on the table. That unnerving smile is now right in front of Felix’s face. “Maybe if you gave me a chance, and, I don’t know, talked with me? You’d stop being so prickly all the time. See, you’re frowning again.”

“I will stop when you leave. We both know you’re good at that.”

“Not pulling any punches, are you, Felix.” It’s the first time since their meeting at the hangar that Sylvain actually uses his name and for some reason it throws him off balance; the lack of another curt reply only prompts the redhead to continue. “I know that you’re furious. I would be, too. But I just wanted a chance to... talk. To apologize.” He sighs and adds, “But after everything, you have all the right to not believe my words or promises.”

This wording is deliberate, Felix knows it. Their decade old promise still rings in his ears and makes his current self all the more angry.

He sends Sylvain a glare but doesn’t say anything. It’s as good an encouragement to carry on as Sylvain can get, probably.

“That’s why…” the redhead continues in a lower, serious voice, eyes not leaving Felix’s. “I would like to show you, instead. What happened.”

He wasn’t prepared for this.

“…What?”

“I want to drift with you,” Sylvain explains quickly, as if scared that he’ll run out of courage to do so if he hesitates any longer; there’s no trace of that fake smile anymore. He’s completely honest, and visibly nervous. “I believe we’re compatible. Like, actually compatible because we match and not because I’m a weirdo who can make it happen, somehow.”

There’s a lot to unpack there and Felix is not sure he wants to dwell deeper into that statement without losing his mind. Instead, he grasps the next safest thing and asks, “How do you know?”

They haven’t spoken in years, their last training, if it could be even called that, was when they were kids. Sure, they always talked about this, about growing up and becoming pilots, together - for their younger selves that was the most obvious thing in the world. But it seems like that promise belonged to a different universe where the two of them couldn’t drift with anyone else but the other. It was the opposite of their current life; where Felix didn’t have to deal with the painful emotional baggage of having lost his brother and partner, and Sylvain wasn’t able to connect with people who definitely were not Felix.

Still, when he remembers the thrill of watching Sylvain fight, their compatibility doesn’t sound so crazy anymore.

“Please, I’ve had years of practice in ‘fake’ drifts. And when you came to that training, something was different. It’s hard to explain,” he trails off, eyes unfocused as he stares into the wall behind Felix’s back. “But it’s worth a try. And… I owe you the explanation. If you want to hear it, that is.”

The way Sylvain's whole persona shifted from happy-go-lucky and charismatic to almost timid and slightly nervous makes his statement all the more poignant. Even though Felix is not enthusiastic about any of it - getting closer to Sylvain again, drifting, fighting - there’s some aggravating, relentless thought at the back of his head, a memory replaying over and over again in Glenn's voice.

_Drift partners are almost like soulmates, Fe. You can trust them._

“What do you say?” Sylvain's question brings him back to the conversation at hand. The vulnerability is still there; now that Felix saw it once it’s easier to notice it behind the mask - or rather a whole drivesuit - of confidence and carelessness. The redhead seems like an expert in covering up his feelings and drowning them in some mindless chatter. Felix is almost impressed. “You don’t have to answer right away, just think about it, okay? It doesn’t have to be official. We’d need to spar first, I’ll let Claude know that we agreed for a friendly brawl to blow off some steam, nothing more. He’ll let us have Kwoon just to ours—”

“Fine.”

“What?” Sylvain stares at him in shock, clearly not expecting such an easy win.

“I said fine,” Felix rolls his eyes. “I thought you’re stupid but maybe you’re just deaf.”

Sylvain slowly processes his words but when it finally dawns on him that Felix meant what he said, he’s smiling again. For once, it looks genuine. “If I were too perfect you wouldn’t have anything to demean. And we can’t have that, right? Mr. Fraldarius.”

Felix almost growls and stabs a piece of meat with the fork. “You know my name, so stop calling me like I’m my old man. It’s disturbing.”

Sylvain, the most terrible human being, actually dares to chuckle at that, mirth written all over his face. “And that’s the longest phrase you ever said to me since our reunion! What a relief,” he exclaims dramatically, clutching at his chest. “Here I thought I’d have to deal with your monosyllables for the rest of my life.”

“Fuck you,” Felix replies instantly, ever the charmer. But just to show that he accepts their little truce, he nods at Sylvain's tray and adds: “Now eat. The food’s getting cold.”

“Aww, Felix,” the redhead coos, his grin widening. “You do care!”

His glare does little to stop Sylvain's laugh and for once, he doesn’t mind.

* * *

It’s so easy to forgive Sylvain, Felix finds out.

Ever since their talk over a week ago, Sylvain joins him for lunch every day, without fail. They still avoid some topics - the events from their childhood or Glenn - but it feels right to let just themselves be, perched over the canteen table, all easy smiles and insults without actual malice behind them.

It’s like the last 13 years hasn’t happened; like their friendship hasn’t deteriorated and was only put on hold.

For once, Felix thinks it might be okay. They might be okay.

But the thought of having someone in his head again, someone who isn’t Glenn, is still terrifying to him. Being able to talk and be close to his childhood friend might not feel as impossible as it was at the beginning when he was filled with rage and betrayal, but the trust is hard to rebuild nevertheless. So, despite his own curiosity, he stalls the redhead’s rare attempts at bringing them closer to the actual drift. Sylvain, as usual, doesn’t press further, accepting his lame excuses without as much as batting an eyelid.

“It’s fine,” he says with an easy smile. The sweet, fruity tea he sips in-between the sentences has the same warm color as his eyes. “We have time, Felix.”

Felix wants to believe him. And at this moment, with the two of them safe from the horrors of war and kaiju, that promise sounds almost true.

“Let’s spar tomorrow,” Felix utters finally, eyes not meeting Sylvain’s as he does so. He can still feel the intensity of his gaze as he waits for his next words. “I’m tired of training dummies. They’re boring.”

The pilot laughs out loud, his chuckle warm and sweet as the caramel of his eyes. Felix notices with surprise that he doesn’t hate this sound. “Sure. That’s a date then.”

* * *

The Kwoon Combat Room is quiet when Felix arrives; the dim lights around the arena are the only highlight in the sea of shadows.

He pads through the ill-lighted room, stopping at the weapon rack first before continuing on to the arena. This setup seems to have a calming effect on him - he relishes in the silence that fills the room, coolness of the wooden flooring under his bare feet, weight of the sword in his hands, even this lack of proper light. It reminds him of the old training room back home, where he broke one light bulb during his sparring with Glenn. His brother laughed heartily, tears welling in his eyes and mouth open, as he helped him pick up the broken pieces of glass. 

After all, they never replaced that bulb and continued their training in semi-darkness, swords dancing at the border of light and shadow, soft glow more welcoming than the piercing brightness.

When he reaches the arena, he notices that he’s not alone.

The familiar mop of red hair appears in the corner of the room; Sylvain is sitting in the lotus position, his eyes closed, breathing steady, the training staff lying in front of him. There’s a soft sheen of sweat on his body, indicating that he’s probably been training here for a long while.

There’s something peaceful about him meditating, though, about the gentle lines of his face and the relaxed line of his shoulders, even when he holds the form impeccably. It makes Felix thread slower, careful to not destroy this moment of peace.

As he reaches the middle of the arena, Sylvain takes a deep breath and opens his eyes.

“Felix,” he says, not without a hint of bewilderment. “You came.”

He quirks his eyebrows in reply. “When have I ever missed an opportunity to train?” he huffs, almost hurt by Sylvain’s surprise. Felix shakes it off, though, instead focusing on the warm-up, going through the usual motions with painstaking precision. “You’re not gonna get rid of me that easily, Gautier.”

_Not anymore_ , he adds in his mind.

Sylvain lets out a small chuckle and stands up, staff in his hands. “I wouldn’t even dream of that.”

They spend the next minutes in silence, each of them concentrating on their own movements. Felix can’t help himself from stealing occasional glances here and there, mesmerized by the redhead’s stances. It’s not the first time he sees him train - the memories from the rookie training are still fresh in his mind - but it still impresses him how good Sylvain is. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, though; when they were still kids his friend could’ve mastered anything he put his mind into. That ability clearly found its way into his adult life, too.

_Unfair_ , he thinks to himself and swings his sword a bit too forcefully, almost losing balance.

Of course, Sylvain notices, a small smile curving his lips. “You good, Fe?”

“I’m fine,” he bites back, trying not to think of the heat rising to his cheeks. He takes a few breaths, then adds, “Let’s get this over with. Ready to get your ass kicked?”

“I wanted to wait for Claude, but I guess he won’t mind if we start without him.” Sylvain gives him a meaningful look through the hooded eyelids as he swings the staff with expertise. “Wouldn’t want him to see you losing too much, you know.”

Felix takes the stance. Sylvain does, too, the smile replaced with focus. “In your dreams, Gautier.”

They clash.

It’s as easy as breathing, he notices with wonder. They dance around each other, movements so fluid and sure and right that it feels almost like they’ve rehearsed this over and over and over again. Their push and pull is natural, like they’ve trained together for the last 13 years, practicing this, preparing for this day. One second the tip of Felix’s sword almost grazes Sylvain’s side, only to be swiftly parried by the staff that should not have been there at all; the next it’s Sylvain’s weapon that misses by millimeters, blocked by Felix at the very last moment.

Sylvain laughs and continues with renewed vigor.

Felix realizes with dread that for the first time in a long while, he’s having fun.

Their weapons clash against each other again.

They lose track of time and points pretty soon, somewhere between 4 to 3 and 5 to 6. The score is irrelevant, though; even without a judge it’s easy to notice that they’re evenly matched, none of them relenting or leaving open spots for too long. 

“Well, well, well,” a voice from the sidelines interrupts before their next bout. It’s Claude, winking at them from where he’s leaning against the wall. “I leave you guys alone for a minute and this is what happens? You should’ve told me earlier, we could have avoided most of the unnecessary tension.”

Sylvain for once doesn’t hide his feelings behind the fake mask; he leans on his staff and chuckles, his free hand diving into the bush of his fiery hair. “So, what do you think? Are we any good?”

Claude gives him a pointed look.

“As good as I’ve ever seen, to be honest,” he answers without hesitation, expression turning more serious. “I knew that you’re both good - yes, I saw your files, Felix, don’t act surprised,” he explains after seeing the puzzled look on Felix’s face, “but that’s so much more than I was prepared for.”

Claude’s words make everything real all of sudden. Felix glances at Sylvain, only to see the other man already staring back at him, his expression unreadable.

The officer steps closer to the center of the arena, watching them both closely, assessing. “You two are compatible, and it’s not influenced by Sylvain’s abilities, from what I can say. It’s different.” He stops in front of the redhead, his gaze turning soft again. “More than that, you look different, too. In a good sense.”

Sylvain averts his eyes. That doesn’t hide the fact that his ears are turning red. “…I feel good, too.”

Felix feels the warmth spread throughout his body at his friend’s words. It’s too much and too sudden, but he can’t disagree - it felt good. It felt _right_. Felix would be damned if he said it out loud, but it might have felt even better than with Glenn.

Claude takes a step back, hands joined behind his back. “I can give you my blessings and authorize the drift.” He glances at both men. “If you want.”

“If we want,” Felix repeats. “Aren’t you obliged to report this to the HQ?”

The officer styles his expression into a perfectly neutral smile. It’s enough to make Felix shiver; it also reminds him to never, ever turn Claude into his enemy. “I believe that obligations towards friends have the uppermost priority.”

Felix knows that he’s nowhere near being Claude’s friend.

“I’m okay, as long as you’re okay with it, too,” Sylvain chimes in. He’s agitated, shifting from one foot to another, nervous energy brimming under his skin. “What do you think, Fe?”

“Sylvain,” Claude starts, openly worried now. The redhead gives him a tiny, tired grin in reply.

“It’s fine, really. I want this.” Sylvain sounds genuine, too, even if slightly vulnerable - and there’s little Felix can do at this point, as always susceptible to his friend’s unspoken pleas. He’s never been good at saying ‘no’ to him.

Besides, deep inside, he wants it, too.

“When can we do it?” he asks instead, hoping to avoid saying out loud that he doesn’t hate the idea of baring his mind to Sylvain. That despite all those years, he trusts him with his heart.

Sylvain heaves a half-sigh, half-chuckle. Claude raises his eyebrow curiously, then glances at the watch on his wrist out of habit.

“Give me some time. I’ll see when I can squeeze you in without having to make a big deal out of it.” He glances at them, as if looking for any signs of regret or hesitation; when he sees none, he smiles. “Maybe later this week?”

* * *

In life, things almost never go as planned, though.

Two days later, before Claude manages to authorize their drift, the alarm sirens wail and warning lights flash, turning the whole Shatterdome into a sea of noise and ominous red. Everyone stops in their tracks, work forgotten. Lysithea gives the J-Tech team a solemn nod.

“Breach exposed,” the mechanical voice of the emergency system supplies. “All combat personnel report to LOCCENT immediately.”

“Shit,” Felix mutters to himself.

“They’re gonna need us.” Lysithea is quick to act, already grabbing her tools, ready to leave. “Felix, Ignatz, let’s go. We’re the lucky ones on check duty today.”

It’s not his first fight but the novelty of being an engineer rather than a pilot is still there. It feels strange and almost unnatural to not have to worry about dying - to be just a passive element in the big puzzle of war. It’s not a bad thing, per se, but for someone who spent most of his life training to be a ranger, getting used to it takes a lot of time.

When they arrive at LOCCENT they are met with Claude's stoic presence and Rodrigue's stormy gaze. All six Rangers, including a very tall bulky man standing next to Sylvain, are dressed in their drivesuits, ready for dispatch.

Lysithea storms over to Marianne’s side, keen on checking the signal.

“We have detected one signature, category III,” Marianne announces. “Codename: Eshm.”

“It’s gonna reach Parsa in approximately two hours.” Lysithea scans through the data. “Luckily for us, it’s not as fast as the previous two. We’ve got some time.”

Claude looks at Rodrigue, waiting for his reaction; when he’s met with a quick nod, he straightens and focuses on the pilots in front of him. “We’re not taking any chances, though. Asha, Manah, you two are defending the Miracle Mile. Armaiti,” he pauses, taking a glance at Sylvain and his partner. “Stay at the coastline. Engage only if necessary.”

There's a shadow of worry in Claude's eyes, but it vanishes before Felix has any time to dwell on it more. There are more pressing matters at hand.

The next minutes leading to the deployment pass quickly; everyone is focused on verifying that both Jaegers and Rangers are prepared for the faceoff with the monster. Lysithea’s J-Tech is thorough and meticulous as always, their usual hard work paying off in time of emergency. Felix, despite being a new addition to the team, feels confident as he re-checks Byleth and Emile’s Asha with a dozen of other engineers.

“Vohu Manah, clear.” Ignatz’s voice is slightly distorted through the intercom.

“Asha Vahishta, clear,” Felix follows with his report.

“Spenta Armaiti, clear,” Lysithea sighs into the mic a moment later.

By the time they reach LOCCENT, Dorothea and Petra have already finished synchronizing and Marianne is initializing the next pair’s drift. Marshal stands next to her, eyes following the flow of data on the screen.

“Asha, prepare for the neural handshake,” Rodrigue commands, arms locked in front of his chest.

“Starting in 15, 14.” Marianne continues with the countdown. On the screen, Byleth and Emile are as composed as always. When the number changes to zero, there’s a brief moment when their eyes close and they both tense up as the barrier between their minds is lifted; but it takes them only a few seconds to find their balance and synchronize.

“Neural handshake successful,” Marianne visibly relaxes. “We’re ready for calibration.”

Rodrigue's lips curl in a small smile. “Good job, everyone. Keep at it.”

Felix also lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. It’s no secret that no matter how experienced you are, drift always comes with a risk. There are too many factors that might influence its stability to ever make it completely safe and reliable.

“Armaiti, you’re out of alignment!” As if to prove his point, Lysithea’s raised voice pierces through LOCCENT, catching everyone’s attention.

_Fuck_ , he curses inwardly, _why does it have to be Sylvain_.

“Sylvain, focus. Nader, you’re fine for now, but don’t go after the rabbit.” Her fingers move swiftly on the keyboard, their patter unnaturally loud. Based on weeks they spent together so far, Felix knows that she’s nervous.

“Sylvain, stay with us.” Claude moves over to her station, eyes fixed on the screen. When Felix comes closer to take a look at what’s happening, he freezes.

Sylvain is terrified. His breathing is ragged, pupils dilated; there’s sweat streaming down his face, visible even through the camera. He looks like he’s physically in pain.

Felix is rooted to the spot, torn between wanting to vomit, run away or punch something.

“I know it’s hard but don’t chase it, Syl,” Claude keeps talking in a soothing tone, muttering gently to the mic until it starts to work. Slowly, breath after breath, Sylvain lets go of the memories and starts recognizing where he is. His trembling doesn’t seem to subside, though, and Felix faintly notices that his own body is shaking, too.

“Neural handshake… stable,” Lysithea murmurs hesitantly. “Synchronization at 91.4% and rising.”

“Good. You’re doing great, Syl. Just come back to us, hm?” Claude glances at the other pilot. “Nader, pal, how are you holding up?”

“I’m fine. Y’know he never lets us in, so I didn’t feel a thing.”

That sentence doesn’t sit with Felix well, but before he has the time to ask about it, a raspy voice comes through the intercom.

“Gossipping about me… when I’m around?” Sylvain lets out a throaty laugh. He still looks like shit and can’t catch his breath properly, but at least he’s holding up. Despite the full-fledged panic attack he had moments ago, he continues in an almost carefree tone, “Don’t hurt… my feelings like that… guys.”

That’s it, Felix thinks to himself as he plops down on his chair with fury and startles Ignatz. The fucking audacity, really. He’s going to punch that redhead idiot when he’s back.

Claude smiles apologetically.

“Sorry, Syl. You gotta bear with us a little bit longer.”

* * *

From there on, things go really fast.

Felix is shit with emotions and all forms of communication, but even he can detect that Claude is sorry for more than just the stupid gossip. He sees how the officer frettingly bites his lip while talking to Sylvain, or how he keeps re-checking his status, even when his attention is divided into three Jaegers as he helps Marshal control the fight. There’s an air of guilt there that runs deeper than Felix is able to understand.

They’re in luck this time, though - Eshm doesn’t put up much fight, especially against two Jaegers of this calibre. Manah distracts the kaiju with her nimble strikes, incredible speed giving her enough leverage to evade its potential counterattacks. Asha, on the other hand, goes through each step with textbook precision and deadly force, so efficient and utterly beautiful in their onslaught that it leaves Felix completely speechless and…

Wanting. Craving the drift.

Unconsciously, his gaze lingers on Sylvain.

* * *

The fight is over.

And today as well, Felix's hands stay clean.

* * *

He doesn’t go to see Sylvain right after the drift. Selfishly, he doesn’t want to face him when he’s not ready, when the words that should remain unspoken threaten to take a dangerous shape and spill from his mouth.

As soon as they finish the post-battle cleanup, he retreats to his room. For most of the night he fumbles under the sheets, agitated, too distracted by his mind replaying Sylvain's distraught expression.

_He never lets us in._

Felix punches his pillow. It doesn’t help.

* * *

Sylvain's nowhere to be found the next day.

Felix lets it slide. He's not prepared to face him either way, and honestly, he understands the post-drift fatigue. He sometimes suffered from it after the smoothest drifts with Glenn - and yesterday’s mission was anything but smooth, at least for the redhead.

That's fine. He'll have to come out tomorrow, right?

* * *

To Felix's dismay, there’s still no trace of obnoxious smile and red hair the next day.

He knows he could probably ask his father or Claude about it. Still, him showing concern towards Sylvain after his initial behaviour would bring questions that Felix is not comfortable answering.

It’s not like he knows the answers anyway.

After carefully considering his options, he settles on the next best thing and asks Lysithea.

“Sylvain?” She tilts her head, thinking. “It’s normal for him to lay low for a few days after the drift. I don't know the details, but if you’re curious about the effects of drift on omnis, I'd recommend you speak with Mercedes.” She pauses and lets a tiny smile curve her lips, a mischievous glint lighting up in her eyes. “I’m glad to see you two are finally getting along.”

Felix murmurs something under his breath and leaves, trying to ignore the heat on his cheeks.

* * *

During the time he spent at Almyra, Felix heard many stories about Jeritza's sister, Mercedes: the gentle and caring, yet surprisingly fierce lady whose decisions couldn’t be overridden even by Claude. With knowledge, skills and experience surpassing any other medic in this part of Almyra, she has oftentimes been referred to as the Angel of Parsa. All Shatterdome workers treated her with utmost respect, too, since her supreme authority has always been used with everyone’s good in mind.

Felix knocks at the door to her office, wondering how unfair it is that one person can have so many good qualities.

A few heartbeats later, the door opens and he’s met with curious blue eyes and a pleasant smile.

“Oh, what a lovely surprise,” the woman Felix assumes to be Mercedes says in a soft voice. He doesn’t hate it. “You must be Felix, right? Please, come in.”

He steps into the room which - for once - feels different than the rest of the Shatterdome. It’s almost cosy, compared to the rest of the facilities. Or maybe that’s just Mercedes’ influence, he isn’t sure. “I’m... sorry for a sudden visit. Lysithea told me you might be able to help me.”

Mercedes closes the door with a soft click. “You don’t seem injured, so I hope it’s nothing physical?”

“It’s... “ Felix hesitates, fists clenching, as he continues lamely, “not about me.”

“Oh?” She gestures for him to sit down at the sofa while she busies herself at the counter. She hums softly as she pours tea into two cups, then hands him one with a smile; it smells like pine needles, one of his favourite blends. Not even five minutes in and he starts to understand why Mercedes is everyone’s beloved medic. “I’m not sure I can discuss other patients with you, Felix.”

“Thank you, but, I’m not— I mean. It’s not about a person,” he stutters, trying to find the right words. He huffs, takes a deep breath, then starts again. “I’m trying to understand how omnicompatibility works.”

There’s a moment of silence and Felix wonders if he crossed a line, somehow.

Mercedes takes a sip of her tea.

“So, it is about someone, after all,” she says, locking her eyes with Felix’s. The air seems heavier than just a minute ago, and Mercedes’ aura is almost intimidating.

Weirdly enough, Felix, remembering Claude’s protective behavior, is somewhat relieved that the redhead idiot has people willing to protect him to that extent. He’s also aware that he must choose his next words carefully, otherwise his visit is going to finish before it really started.

“I don’t know how I feel about Sylvain, yet,” he admits after a moment of hesitation. It’s been a while since he let somebody into his thoughts and opening up doesn’t come to him easily. “He turned into somebody I don’t understand. He’s different.” The truth is hard to admit. “But I care about him. And I didn’t enjoy watching him suffer.”

The medic hums in agreement, encouraging him to keep going. She’s not going to make it easy for him, her gentleness be damned.

“...I want to understand. What the hell is happening to him? Drifting shouldn’t be…” Forced? Unnatural? Hurting one of the parties to the level of severe anguish and bringing them mental and physical distress? He doesn’t know how to express all of it at once so he finishes quietly, “It shouldn’t be this.”

Mercedes straightens up. Even though she’s smaller than Felix, it feels like she’s towering over him at this moment, blue eyes inspecting him, leaving him no room to hide.

“So you’d like to help him?”

He already told her so much, there’s no point in denying at this point.

“Yes.”

Mercedes smiles again, the real, gentle smile; the tension dissipates from the room. He must’ve passed the test.

“Let me grab the right file, Felix. I hope you have some free time, it’s going to take us a while.”

It does take them a whole afternoon, between Mercedes sharing the official information from Sylvain’s medical reports and whatever pieces of data she was able to put together from her talks with the pilot. Still, there’s a lot of unknown there, with how secretive Gautier family was about the miraculous case of omnicompatibility - and Sylvain being Sylvain, refusing to share what happened in his past.

They’ve been separated for over a decade but some things just never change, Felix thinks bitterly, grimacing.

“So, he’s always like that during the drift?” he asks while browsing through the never ending stack of reports. They only have access to Sylvain’s most recent drift records from Almyra, and that’s already way more than Felix has expected; the number surpasses his and Glenn’s overall drifts by far.

It’s terrifying to imagine how many he must’ve taken part in before that.

“Not always but it happens more often than any of us would like,” Mercedes prompts, concern evident on her features. “Claude requested once to put him on hold in order to minimize the burden on his mind… But you can imagine how HQ reacted to that.”

Felix feels the anger burn in his chest. If HQ was involved, his father must have heard about it as well, at least to some extent. Based on his initial reaction when they arrived, though, he wasn’t aware of the full implications behind omnicompatibility, or the fact that Sylvain was involved. “They don’t care if we die, as long as we do the job. Typical.”

Mercedes gives him a knowing look. “And even if it got accepted, we would have to convince Sylvain.”

He stops his search, hands grasping the documents with unnecessary force. He remembers Sylvain’s fragile smile during the drift, the baffling dismissal of his own pain.

“Of course he’d refuse. That idiot.”

The healer sighs, then reaches for the almost empty cup of tea. She stares at it, evidently contemplating something in her mind.

“I have a theory,” she declares in a whisper, still not looking up from the cup in her hands. “A theory I can’t prove it in any way unless Sylvain admits it, but… Call it an instinct, or intuition.”

Felix prompts her to continue with a soft hum.

“There are no official statistics or research papers about it, sadly, but I’ve seen pilots who started drifting early. Who haven’t been prepared in advance or taught how to… cope with having someone else in their head.” Mercedes’ fingers twitch around the pink ceramic mug adorned with the words ‘Happy birthday, Mercie!’, by now almost completely washed out and illegible. “It happened more often in the past, when we didn’t understand the importance of compatibility and were dying to find new test pilots as soon as possible. When results were more important than human lives.”

Felix feels his stomach sink; he can see where this is going and it makes him feel so helpless, so _fucking_ angry that he almost doesn’t want to hear the healer say it out loud.

Mercedes looks up, eyes filled with determination as she continues in a shaky voice. “I believe Sylvain has been forced to drift. From an early age, possibly. Him closing off his headspace could be perceived as a coping mechanism that helps him deal with… whatever awful experiences he associates drifting with.” 

There it is. He can’t unhear it now, he can’t pretend everything’s fine.

His throat is dry, to the point of being painful, but he pushes himself to speak.

“What can we do? What can _I_ do?”

The blonde medic gives him a sad smile.

“I think someone should talk to him, stop him from hurting himself even more. But I’m not sure if he’s going to listen to me.”

The silence that embraces them is poignant enough that Felix is able to hear his own heartbeat.

* * *

_He’ll listen to you because he cares about you, Felix._

He takes Mercedes’ words and repeats them in his head like a prayer as he knocks on the door to the redhead’s room the following morning.

“Spar with me,” is what he throws right at Sylvain's barely awake face instead of a greeting.

The older man looks like he has problems with processing the words. To be honest, now that Felix has a chance to take a proper look at him, he notices the ugly shadows under his eyes and chapped lips, all the more prominent against the pale skin.

“...Felix?”

He can’t meet Sylvain's eyes for long, so he shifts his attention elsewhere.

There's a faint trace of freckles, scattered across his cheeks and nose, that Felix has never spotted before.

“Spar. Do I need to spell it out for you.”

“As much as I appreciate it,” Sylvain tries to smile and slip back into his usual laid back persona, but there’s something so wrong and forced about it that Felix can’t describe it. His usual mask of lies is still wrecked and cracked after the drift, unable to cover his whole face, and for once you can spot the flawed truth from underneath all the fake perfection. “Now’s not the best time. Let’s get back to it later, okay?”

“Later when?” Felix barks out, barely containing his rage. “Before or after you have another panic attack while drifting?”

Sylvain makes a face - and this time it’s real, it’s raw. There's anger and sadness and disappointment, as well as tons of other shitty emotions that he doesn’t even try to name, all simmering right underneath Sylvain's skin and desperately trying to find their way out.

“Get out.”

“Or what? You’re gonna fight me?” Felix cocks his eyebrow and takes a step forward. “Too bad that’s what I came for.”

“I'm…” Sylvain inhales sharply and hides his face in his hands. In the silence of the room his breathing sounds as deafening as screams.

Felix is still. Waiting.

“...I’m tired. Please, Fe. Let’s not do this today.”

“You actually admitted it. Colour me impressed.” Felix sighs and shakes his head, but there’s a victorious smirk on his face. “Get back in the bed, just leave the door open. I’ll be back soon.”

As he turns back to leave, he gives Sylvain a pointed look and adds, “And shower, maybe. You stink.”

Felix leaves without further ado. Filled with a strange determination, he almost jogs to the canteen; he fills the tray with things he remembers Sylvain liking, either in the past or recently - including the awfully sweet doughnuts that Lysithea tried to feed him last week and the fragrant black tea he drank the last time he bothered Felix during lunch. Grateful for Sylvain’s unchanging taste, he adds a couple of strawberries, promises the canteen staff to bring back the tray later and leaves.

The way back is equally uneventful and he manages to get back to Sylvain’s room in no time. The door is open, like he requested; as he steps into the room, he also hears the muted splashing from the shower room next door.

Satisfied, Felix leaves the tray at the table, sits down and waits.

Sylvain takes his time, but Felix isn’t mad; if it helps him look and feel more like a living being then so be it. He takes a sip of his own tea - a blend much more bitter than Sylvain’s - and uses this time to take a better look at the redhead’s room.

Even as a child, Sylvain liked to keep his living spaces clean, but here he took that cleanliness to another level. It’s borderline sterile, the unmade bed being the only indication that somebody is living here.

It pisses Felix off, but also makes him incredibly sad.

There’s a soft click when the bathroom door opens and involuntarily, Felix is drawn to Sylvain’s figure. The redhead looks better, despite the prominent shadows under his eyes; at least his complexion is healthier, the cheeks reddened from the warmth of the water. His usual messy hair cascades down his face, wet from the shower.

Sylvain’s eyes land on the breakfast tray and he almost misses a step, surprised.

“I-is that for me?” It’s a good look on him, Felix concludes, the mixture of perplexity and disbelief. He wouldn’t mind seeing it more often.

“Duh,” is the elaborate answer he throws at Sylvain. “Only you’d be able to eat all this sweet stuff.”

The idiot laughs nervously while scratching the back of his head. Felix is happy to know that some things really don’t change. “What’s the occasion? Am I ill and dying, and no one told me about it?” He takes a seat and glances at Felix expectantly.

His mouth reacts faster than his brain when he blurts out, “That’s what I would like to know, Sylvain.”

If he wanted to see more of bewildered Sylvain, well, here it is. The face of complete confusion. Felix is just as shaken by his own words, so he adds in a hurry, “Just… eat. We’ll talk later.”

“...Yeah. Okay,” Sylvain whispers in reply. His hands are slightly shaking when he reaches for the food. “Thanks, Fe,” he adds. For once, it sounds genuine and Felix bites back a smile.

“Don’t mention it.”

Somehow, the breakfast is less awkward than Felix thought it would be; Sylvain fills the silence with some small talk, clearly thriving off Felix’s attention. And Felix plays along, for once ditching his anger and humming softly as the redhead continues to describe the tiny flower bed Mercedes managed to cultivate in the corner of the deck or how Claude never goes easy on him when they play chess. They’re small, everyday things, and it’s nice how it helps to portray a different side of Sylvain - one that Felix missed dearly, without even realizing it.

The kind boy that held his hand when he cried is still here, buried under layers of masks he willingly puts on to distance himself from everyone else. The more Felix thinks about it, the more similar he and Sylvain appear to be.

When the tray is almost empty, save for the cookie that Sylvain nibbles at without a hurry, Felix lets himself vocalize the things he feels. It’s been on his mind for some time already, but stubborn as he is, he never really considered saying them out loud - until his talk with Mercedes.

“...I’m.” He breaks the silence, yet his voice fails him halfway through. He’s never been good at apologizing, and it is no different now. He knows, though, that if he doesn’t do it now it will torment him later on, so he pushes through. “I was… angry, I guess, when I saw you here. You’ve been gone for so long and… I said some stuff I shouldn’t have.”

It’s soft and unsure, everything that Felix is not, and normally he’d despise this part of himself. But then he remembers the biting, angry words he threw at Sylvain multiple times ever since he came to Almyra, the resignation on the redhead’s face, and suddenly his own vulnerability doesn’t feel that bad anymore.

Sylvain doesn’t look at him and focuses on the remnants of the cookie in his hands, eyes glassy and widened in surprise.

“I... “ He starts, dumbfounded. “You’re... good, Fe. You didn’t do anything wrong. I should be the one apologizing to you.”

“What for?”

Felix doesn’t like where this is going. Sure, he wants Sylvain to apologize - he’s been missing for 13 years, for fuck’s sake - but does he really think that a 9-year-old boy left all on his own? Of course not. He remembers Margrave Gautier, hell, he remembers the way Sylvain always flinched when his father just as much as glared at him, and the more he thinks about it, the more he realizes he wasn’t the only one who was hurt by the Gautiers disappearance.

He just hasn’t realized the extent of it, yet. But looking at his friend’s reaction to drifting, he might have a pretty good idea what ugly truth Sylvain has been hiding from them.

Sylvain slumps his shoulders and leans back against the chair, as if trying to take as little space as possible. Despite his height and build, he appears smaller, more fragile than Felix. “Lots of stuff,” he says, not meeting his eyes still. “I left without a goodbye, for starters. I broke our promise… Over and over again, if we were to count each separate drift.” His self-deprecating chuckle is enough to give Felix goosebumps; this is not going well at all. “I’m sorry. And I’m too much of a coward to even put it into words and just. Fucking explain it like a normal person would.”

“Sylvain, stop.” 

And of course he doesn’t. “I’m a fuckup. It’s only right you’re mad at me.”

“I was mad, at first. Fuck, I’m still mad,” Felix says but there is no usual bite in his words. “Not at you, though. We were children, Sylvain. I don’t know what happened exactly but it couldn’t have been your fault.”

“But it was my fault!” Sylvain roars, then quickly forces himself to lower the voice. “If I just haven’t been—” He groans and buries his face in his hands. “I don’t know why I tried to make you consider drifting with me. Nothing good ever comes out of it.”

_Wrong, wrong, all wrong_ , Felix’s mind is silently screaming.

“Is that what you really think? And why you were… like this, during the last deployment?”

The redhead doesn’t answer but the expression on his face is clear enough. Felix decides to push further.

“I’ve heard that you don’t let others into your headspace. Why?”

Sylvain’s expression finally changes as he snickers. “Had a lot of practice. I taught myself.” There’s that ugly smile again, the sarcastic one that he uses to shield himself from telling the whole truth. “I get to keep my secrets and spare everyone the pain of seeing what a mess I am. It’s a win-win situation.”

Felix wants to punch him so badly. Just mash his face with his fists, tear that smile down by force, anything to make it disappear - and he would, if he knew that it would help Sylvain. But it won’t, so he clenches his fists and asks instead, “And it never crossed your mind that others might be worried about you? That maybe you should stop drifting, even if just for a while?”

The redhead looks at him like he grew a second head.

“I do this,” Sylvain declares slowly, punctuating each word. “Because I don’t want them to worry. Because I am a pilot and I can handle this.”

“Good job, then,” Felix lashes out, the anger seething beneath his skin. “It didn’t _fucking_ work.”

Sylvain grimaces and averts his eyes, clearly not content with his friend’s reaction. “What do you think I should’ve done, then? Fuck it all? Stop doing the only thing I’m good at?”

“Yes, for fuck’s sake!” If the redhead was expecting Felix to feel any semblance of responsibility or duty towards the Corps, he was in for a surprising ride - Felix never cared about it at all. “Because guess what? When I got hurt and I couldn’t take it anymore, I did exactly that! And even my father - a fucking Marshal of the Defense Corps, let me remind you - didn’t try to change my mind.”

He realizes that he has triggered something in Sylvain the moment the last words fall into the silence between them. The shift in atmosphere is slight yet palpable; the other man straightens his back and Felix is suddenly reminded of their difference in height, prominent even while they’re sitting.

“Good for you, Felix.” That’s a dangerous tone and Felix knows that the next words coming out of Sylvain’s mouth are going to be nasty. He steadies himself for what’s to come. “Good for you that _your_ daddy has never measured his love towards you based on how many times you were able to drift. Because mine sure had.”

It feels like a punch in the gut. Simply hearing it hurts. He doesn’t want to believe that anyone would be willing to go that far, but deep inside he knows that Sylvain’s father would.

More than that, he did.

_I believe Sylvain has been forced to drift. From an early age, possibly,_ Mercedes’ words replay in his mind and he can’t believe that he tried to omit the devastating implications they carried.

“I know I’m only useful as long as I can do my job. You don’t have to pretend. I know.”

These implications are sitting right in front of him, brimming with self-loathing and bearing the consequences of someone else’s destructive choices.

Felix has always been better with actions than words. Before he realizes, he’s up on his feet, closing the distance between him and Sylvain; then, he grabs the redhead’s hand and tugs him up from the seat. Sylvain’s caramel eyes stare at him in confusion as he squeezes his hand.

“Your father is a selfish, manipulative asshole.” Felix doesn’t hold his punches against the head of Gautier family - there’s no reason to, now that he is aware of the damage he’s done to his son. “Even bigger than I thought, too, if that’s what he’s been telling you. Because, fuck, how can you not see it? It’s not true, none of it.”

Disbelief and hurt flash in Sylvain’s eyes and he tries to look away, shield himself from Felix’s knowing gaze in any way possible. The shorter male lets him, but not without slowly putting his hand to the redhead’s cheek.

They’re close enough that Felix can hear the hitch in Sylvain’s breath at the gentle caress.

“And you’re an idiot, Syl, if you can’t see that you’re more than your compatibility,” he adds in a whisper, so focused on the redhead leaning into his touch that he doesn’t notice the childhood nickname slipping in. “Fuck, I am the last person to care whether you drift or not. I sure as hell stopped after… after Glenn. And I don’t see anyone pointing fingers at me.”

Of course it’s this irrelevant remark _about Felix_ that makes Sylvain finally react; despite his own vulnerability, he glances at his friend and mutters in reply, completely serious: “I would give hell to anyone who would try to do that.”

Felix can’t help but laugh out loud. Not a mocking sneer or a snarky scoff, but a soft, unrestrained chuckle, something that neither he nor Sylvain are prepared to hear. It’s futile to stop it, now, with the redhead’s words still ringing in his head.

“You stupid, selfless fool,” Felix says with affection, pulling Sylvain into a hug - and despite their height difference, Sylvain lets himself be manhandled without a word of complain. “I can’t believe how _impossible_ you sometimes are.”

The redhead tenses, as if unsure how to react to that.

And Felix is nothing but merciful today, so he adds, all the while caressing his back, “Everyone in Almyra likes you for _you_. For your lame jokes and disastrous flirting, for stupids remarks and insightful observations. And your dumb, irritating, absurdly good heart.”

Sylvain exhales shakily, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

“You do, too?” he asks - raw, insecure - voice muffled against Felix’s shoulder.

It’s obvious that it will take a lot of time and effort to undo the years of conditioned thinking. But right now, the younger man thinks, it feels _damn_ satisfying to know that he is the one with Sylvain - and away from Gautier family’s destructive influence, Felix can start to undo the havoc they wrecked in the redhead’s mind.

“Yes,” he replies without hesitation. “I like you, too.”

* * *

“Are you sure?” Claude’s tone has this distinct tint of protectiveness that Felix identifies now as his Sylvain-voice. He can’t blame him for it; not when he’s about to let two emotionally vulnerable people drift together and potentially cause more harm than good.

Sylvain hesitates for a split second, his hands squeezing into fists. He finally nods in agreement. “…Yeah.”

It doesn’t seem to be enough to put Claude’s mind at rest. He furrows his eyebrows, visibly concerned. “Sylvain... You know we can stop anytime, right?”

The redhead meets his eyes as he replies, this time with more confidence and a tiny smile gracing his lips, “I know. Thank you.”

“The same goes to you, Felix.” The officer shifts his attention to the other pilot. “But I believe you would have voiced your objections by now, if you had any.”

“I wouldn’t even be here, if I had any.”

Claude laughs, the tension finally sipping away from his shoulders. “Play nice, you two.” Before he leaves, he grabs Sylvain’s hand and squeezes it gently in reassurance.

“For the last time, stop touching the suit,” Lysithea chastises him but Claude’s already out of the door and on his way back to LOCCENT. She huffs, her hands already working on fixing the black polymer material wrapped tight around the pilot’s body. It’s their second skin, just as important as the protective battle armor, still sitting on the wall and waiting for the technician’s nimble hands.

Felix averts his gaze from the redhead and focuses on the way Ignatz starts to cover his arms with the sturdy polycarbonate shell. It’s strange how familiar it feels, even though it’s completely different from his fist drivesuit. Faerghus always preferred the traditional, bulky suits, adequate for the aggressive attacks based largely on strength. Felix can still recall how proud and invincible he felt, dressed in the gray armor adorned with deep blue details, sitting heavily on his shoulders.

Almyran armors are lighter and slimmer, allowing faster and easier movement; their weight is miniscule compared to the ones he wore in the past. The color scheme is different, too - the traditional Almyran gold is only an afterthought here, with black being the main color. There’s also a tinge of vivid red, it’s hue similar to Sylvain’s hair, shining bright even in the dim lights of the Drivesuit Room.

It suits Sylvain, he thinks.

They go through the rest of the preparations without problems; Lysithea and Ignatz finish suiting them up, Marianne tests the connection with LOCCENT in a gentle voice while Claude and Rodrigue tower behind her, checking the last parameters. Felix would prefer to not have his father on board during the drift, but it was impossible to keep it a secret from the residing Marshal. Still, his reaction was far better than he expected - he took the news of their compatibility with the calm understanding and support that Felix hasn’t seen ever since Glenn’s death.

Despite him trying not to care, it felt reassuring to have his father’s approval, for once.

With the suits ready, they walk into the Conn-Pod of Spenta Armaiti. It suddenly hits Felix that it’s real, that it’s happening, at last.

He’s going to drift with Sylvain.

As he steps into the place, his feet are buckled to the pedals and arms automatically tied to the frame. The reassuring weight of the electronic spinal clamp is heavy against his back as the technicians finish attaching him to the rig.

He breathes heavily, taking in the scent of the sterile suit; it does little to calm his nerves.

“Spenta Armaiti, clear,” a voice announces with finality.

“Good luck, boys,” Lysithea chirps in before leaving, the heavy latch of the Conn-Pod closing behind her. The two of them are left in complete silence, waiting for LOCCENT’s orders.

“…Any second thoughts?” Sylvain asks with a chuckle. He’s nervous, too, Felix notices with a tinge of relief. “It’s not too late to stop, you know.”

“If you’re too scared to do this, say it yourself,” he bites back with a huff. “I said I’m okay. I’m not backing off now, idiot.”

“Me neither,” the other man replies softly. “I just… wanted to make sure, I guess.”

“Gentlemen, hope I’m not interrupting,” Claude’s amused voice comes through the speakers. “We’re about to initialize the neural handshake. If at any time - and I really mean it, at any damn moment - you feel yourself slipping or I notice that something’s wrong, we’re calling it off. Understood?”

Felix closes his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“Gautier?”

“…Got it,” comes Sylvain’s breathy reply.

“Very well,” Rodrigue’s deep voice fills their ears next. “Prepare for the neural handshake.”

The countdown feels like the longest fifteen seconds in Felix’s life. He clutches at the harness in his hands and at the last moment braves himself to take a look across the room in order to glance at Sylvain.

The redhead is also looking at him, gaze filled with so much emotion that it takes Felix’s breath away.

“See you on the other side,” he manages to whisper right before their minds connect and they become one.

* * *

Felix is barely aware of Marianne’s voice as his senses are assaulted by the myriad of stimuli; he’s himself but also Sylvain at the same time, their emotions interchanging as fast as the two sides of a rotating coin, until the switch is so seamless that it’s nonexistent. The depth of their drift is pulling them both in, deeper with every moment, the memories of the recent events replaying from different perspectives - they both watch and are being watched simultaneously, the ash of regret and fear and self-loathing filling their throat as Sylvain’s eyes follow the non-existing curve of Felix’s mouth as he spits the words he never meant to say out loud.

They don’t stop there, though. Time slips away, like sand slipping through the clenched fist, and soon enough Sylvain is fighting, each battle and drift mixing into one, the ends and beginnings muddled and unrecognizable. There are so many people in there, scrutinizing them from inside out, trying to defile their mind over and over again that they want to scream and run away; but there are cuts on their wrists and thorns in their feet, and they’re bleeding, they’re the burnt offering and necessary sacrifice on the altar of humanity’s survival.

Just like Glenn.

They’re screaming as Glenn is torn away from the Jaeger, the despair and emptiness running hot through their veins. It tastes like metal and salt and tears rolling down Felix’s cheeks.

“Felix! Felix, please, run!” Glenn’s voice pierces through the roaring of waves and kaiju’s ear splitting howl. And he’s falling, fast, the strain of keeping the Jaeger upright too much even for them. They’re sobbing, falling to their knees, to the grime and dirt covering the remains of the Conn-Pod.

The shift in time is slight; the cold and dampness of the open sea is gone, replaced by something even worse, more dangerous.

“Who would’ve thought, princess,” the angry snarl makes them want to curl up even more, to wrap their hands around their knees and disappear. “You’re useless.”

Miklan is there, with the bright shade of red hair and vile, calculating eyes, towering above them. The bouquets of bruises blossom on their skin, reds and blues and violets complimenting the dark waterfall of blood dripping from their nose.

“Again.”

Sylvain is stripped down to the chair, Pons helmet on his head - and his eyes are glassy, empty, just like a doll’s. He’s staring at the white wall of the sterile lab as another person enters his mind.

“Again.” It’s his father, with a dozen shadows trailing behind him. Their eyes are glowing in the dark, fixed on his lithe form. Miklan is dead, his corpse rotting in the corner.

“Again.” It hurts.

“Again.” He misses Felix.

“It’s a necessary sacrifice.”

They scream.

“Felix, Sylvain, can you hear me?… Fuck, we have to get them out, now!”

“Terminate the drift right away.”

“We- Th-they’re-”

“Their sync is almost at 200%, Marshal. We can’t. Goddess knows what will happen in their headspace if we do.”

“The r-restrains are still f-functional. I… I don’t know h-how long they will last.”

“Felix, goddammit, snap out of it! We need you!”

The voices continue, frantic, slowly pulling Felix out from the ocean of memories. His body feels like his own again, his mind clearer - at least he’s aware of the drift.

He’s aware that Sylvain is chasing the rabbit.

“LOCCENT,” he creaks out. His throat is sore and talking hurts, but he knows he has to continue. “Can you hear me?”

“Felix!” A female voice - Lysithea’s, his head supplies with a delay - exclaims with relief. He can hear his father cursing in the background. “The synch is stabilizing, Goddess bless.”

“Not enough,” Marianne adds in a whisper. “S-Sylvain… He’s too deep.”

He knows she’s right. He feels the overwhelming, irrational fear, mixed together with helplessness and solitude of Sylvain’s childhood. They’re strong enough to make him shiver, almost lost again under their intensity.

How long has he repressed those emotions?

“I’ll bring him back,” he says before he dives back into the stormy ocean of their thoughts.

The room is white and empty. It’s hard to say if it’s a room at all - there are no walls or floor, just neverending emptiness.

In the middle of the void is a child. He sits with his knees pressed against his chest, hands wrapped tightly around his legs, telltale red hair almost magnetic in the desert of white.

“Sylvain?” Felix prods as he moves closer, one careful step after another. He stops right before him and kneels, trying to see his face. “Syl, it’s me. Felix.”

The child doesn’t react. His face is hidden behind the knees.

“Sylvain, hey.” He hesitates, but finally decides to put the hand on the boy’s shoulder. He’s shivering and it breaks Felix’s heart. “I’m here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

And he means it; the amount of pain that his friend had to go through is enough to last any person for a lifetime. It’s unfair, just like Glenn’s death, like kaiju murdering their friends and family, like every damn thing that they had to experience in the span of mere two decades. But life is rarely just, and it’s nobody’s fault. They can only keep on living, keep on fighting, trying to protect each other from being hurt.

The child moves. He lifts his head, bright brown eyes peeking at Felix from behind the safe barrier of his arms.

“…Really?”

The older male feels his heart clench at the sheer vulnerability of this one word.

“Really,” he replies without a moment of hesitation. It’s enough for Sylvain to unravel himself and move closer to Felix, slot himself against his chest; and the only natural thing is for Felix to wrap his arms around the boy’s lithe frame, to offer him warmth and reassuring, sweet little nothings whispered into the crown of his head.

It feels right.

“Come back,” Felix breathes against Sylvain’s cheek; they’re both adults now and the white room is crumbling. In the back of his head, he can hear the agitated voices of Rodrigue and Claude, calling out to them. “Come back to me, Sylvain.”

Warm, caramel eyes meet his and Sylvain - finally - smiles.

* * *

Felix wakes up and doesn’t know where he is.

It takes him some time to blink away the bleariness; thankfully, the room is only filled with dim light and his eyes get used to it fast. He winces as he tries to move, noticing how his whole body aches from the simplest of motions, his limbs throbbing in distress. Pain clears his head, though, and makes him remember some of the events that lead him to this state.

Drift.

Chasing the rabbit.

_Sylvain_.

When he closes his eyes and focuses enough, he still feels the ghost of a connection between them, a soft prickling underneath his skin that’s almost tangible.

_Good_ , he thinks to himself, taking comfort in the slow yet steady ebb and flow of Sylvain’s consciousness, _at least the idiot is still alive_.

Felix takes a deep breath and forces himself to sit up.

It’s easy to recognize the infirmary, now that he takes a better look; despite being here only once before, the clean curtains separating the beds and a fresh, almost sweet scent that fills the room calm him down, make him feel at ease. He can hear music playing quietly from behind the curtains, followed by inaudible humming and click of heels against the floor - probably Mercedes herself.

Before he is able to call her or indicate in any way that he’s awake, he picks up a soft whimper from the bed to the right and his mind is flooded with emotions not of his own.

Undeterred by the ache of his muscles, Felix stands up, bare feet against the cold ground, and swats away the material separating him from the other person. It takes only a few shaky steps and he’s next to Sylvain, gripping his hand, fingers sliding between redhead’s.

“Hey,” he thinks - or maybe says out loud, he’s not sure. What matters is that it seems to reach the other man nevertheless, his breathing slowing down and panic subsiding. “It’s just a dream. It’s okay,” he continues, relieved to see the frown disappear from Sylvain’s face with each squeeze of his hand.

After a while Sylvain pries his eyes open and he’s met with Felix’s concerned gaze.

“Felix,” he says, dumbfounded, as if not expecting to see him there.

Out of habit, Felix wants to reply with a snarky remark; but he _knows_ that Sylvain had another nightmare, he felt his fear as strongly as he would his own, the extreme emotions pushing him into motion before he was able to realize why. In the end, he bites down the passive-aggressive _who else would I be_ and responds with a simple, “I’m here.”

The words seem to have an immediate effect on the other male. He shifts on the bed and tugs at Felix’s hand, bringing him down next to him. The bed is barely big enough for two people, but when Sylvain pulls him closer, arms wrapping around his middle, bodies flush against each other - it’s enough. As he nestles his face in the crook of Sylvain’s shoulder, tired yet content at the same time, Felix can’t find it in himself to complain.

That is until he feels the pang of doubt and anxiety disturbing the peaceful warmth, the redhead’s intrusive thoughts strong enough to sip into his mind as well.

He knows what is coming before Sylvain is able to open his mouth.

“I’m so—”

“If you finish that sentence,” Felix chimes in, his breath hot against Sylvain’s neck. “I swear I will never forgive you.”

The idiot gives up and chuckles, trying to mask his embarrassment. “Okay, okay. You win, Fe.”

They lie together in silence. After a while, Sylvain buries his fingers into Felix’s hair hesitantly; when the younger man doesn’t object, he starts combing it, careful not to tug or move too fast. And soon enough, Felix feels himself drift in and out of sleep, lulled by the comfortable touch, their shared warmth and rhythmic beat of redhead’s heartbeat. 

Before he falls asleep, though, he feels the need to state one more thing - just to make himself clear and not leave Sylvain any room for doubt.

“Syl,” he breaks the silence. When the other male humms back in response, he continues. “You showed me everything. I saw you and I’m still here. I won’t leave.”

Sylvain is perfectly still, as if not even daring to take a breath.

“I know very well how dense you are, so it will take time before you start believing it, but…” He shifts and pushes himself up enough to meet Sylvain’s surprised and slightly terrified gaze. “You deserve good things in your life, too.”

If Sylvain’s eyes fill with unshed tears at these words, Felix doesn’t mention it.

Instead, he lets the other man hug him tightly again; Sylvain’s shaky fingers cling to the material of his t-shirt and tangle into his hair.

He feels the redhead breathe warm _thank you_ s into his temples.

* * *

On Mercedes’ request, they spend two more days in the infirmary.

She scolds them first, which is something they can’t even complain about. For seasoned pilots like them it was more than ludicrous to chase the rabbit right off the bat, without even trying to establish a proper sync. But if there’s one person who tries to understand the damage done to Sylvain’s psyche, it’s Mercedes - and after she makes sure they didn’t sustain any irreversible injuries, her scolding quickly turns into barely contained coddling.

And to their relief, the blonde medic doesn’t comment on their newfound habit of sleeping in each other’s beds; if anything, Felix notices a small smile on her lips whenever she sees them together. Which, he hopes, is a good sign.

They get visitors, too, to Felix’s dismay.

Claude and Rodrigue stop by the second Mercie allows anyone to come in, both mostly just relieved to see them okay. Lysithea stops by after work, only to pretend to lecture Felix and definitely not to leave him a bag of her dark chocolate and chilli cookies. Dorothea comes to laugh at Sylvain, and Felix - who has seen during the drift how much she has helped Sylvain in the past - decides to give the two of them some privacy as he joins Mercedes for another cup of tea.

Their infirmary days are peaceful, too peaceful for Felix’s liking, so of course it’s on the day they leave when they get banned from drifting together - to no one's surprise.

“It’s for your own good,” Rodrigue states with as much authority as he can muster while facing them both. “With the extent of the damage, Hangar 4 won’t be usable in the foreseeable future. Spenta Armaiti is still undergoing major repairs.”

“And it’s almost a miracle that we’ve managed to get you both out of it unscathered,” Claude adds later on, when he joins the two of them in the canteen. His plate is filled to the brim with more vegetables than Felix ate in the last year, probably. “We can’t take more risks. I’m sorry.”

Sylvain tries to apologize whenever the topic of drifting comes up - but every time, without fail, Felix glares at him and effectively shuts him up.

“It takes two people to drift,” he says, visibly annoyed. “We both fucked up. So stop apologizing like it was entirely your fault.”

For once, Sylvain listens.

And despite everything, they’re... okay.

They’re healing, both on the outside and the inside.

* * *

Still, the war rages on.

* * *

The next alarm pierces through the Shatterdome in the middle of the night.

In spite of the horrendous hour, the preparations proceed without any delays; years of training and experience seem to pay off, allowing for everyone to go through the routine while half-asleep. Felix, too, doesn’t even fully register that he’s already dressed and on his way to LOCCENT, walking through the narrow corridors of the Shatterdome together with the rest of the personnel.

When he arrives, LOCCENT even busier than usual - and the tense expressions on Marshal’s and Claude’s faces wake Felix up better than a cup of bitter coffee ever could.

He doesn’t have to look to know that Sylvain is standing next to him, not so close that they would touch but still close enough that he’s able to feel his body heat. Somehow, it calms Felix down a little.

Rodrigue steps forward and the room instantly becomes silent.

“It’s a double event,” he announces, solemn. “All units prepare for immediate dispatch.”

Sylvain stills.

“Two signatures detected. Category III, codename: Sij, and…” Lysithea is trying hard to keep her calm despite her shaky voice. “It’s... Category IV. Codename: Astwihad.”

Felix doesn’t hear anything after that; all that he can focus on is _Category IV_ ringing in his head, the same _godforsaken Category IV_ _that killed Glenn_ , and he cannot stop himself from grabbing Sylvain’s hands, clenching onto them till it probably hurts, but it doesn’t matter because—

“You can’t go,” he breathes heavily, panic rendering him unable to explain more; it’s irrational but he hopes, no, he _knows_ that the redhead will understand. He’s been in his head, after all, he’s felt his agony and fear caused by the tragic incident, he’s seen Glenn—

Based on the soft, pained smile that Sylvain gives him, he does understand.

“It’s okay, Fe.”

“Sylvain, you—”

“Sylvain,” Nader’s voice interrupts them and Felix feels like he’s been hit across the face. The bulky Almyran stands next to other pilots and a group of technicians, some of them already leaving for the Drivesuit Room. He gives the two of them a pointed look. “Let’s go.”

Sylvain nods in reply.

Before Felix is able to protest, the redhead shifts his attention back to him, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Hey,” he whispers, his breath hot against the engineer’s temple. “It’s going to be okay.” Sylvain buries hands into his hair, raven black locks spilling through his fingers as he repeats, “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to be okay, Fe.”

The hug ends as suddenly as it started. Felix is left with the fading warmth in his arms and a ghost of a kiss at the corner of his lips.

He feels like he’s not fully there, his mind still swimming, as he slumps down on the chair next to the concerned technicians. With nothing else to do, he stares at the main monitor, all the while trying to calm down his racing heart.

* * *

Everything changes when Sylvain’s drift turns out to be a disaster.

It’s a mess, really. The previous sync between Sylvain and Nader was anything but smooth, but this time it’s even worse. Multiple errors and warnings cover half of the screen, almost completely burying the faces of the two pilots under the amount of the information, as the Strike Squad tries to find the cause of the sudden plight. Felix observes this slow descent into madness, stuck between terror and astonishment, catching parts of the hurried conversations between the personnel.

“Drift connection rejected.”

“What do you mean?”

“Neural handshake inaccessible. Pilots seem… incompatible?”

“Try again. It has to be a mistake.”

“...Rejected, sir. Pilot’s headspace unresponsive.”

Rejected.

Rejected.

_Rejected_.

“For fuck’s sake!”

“Felix.” He’s brutally brought back to the reality when Claude calls out to him. There’s an underlying panic in his voice. “We need you. Please.”

“What do you think I can do?” he chokes out, gesturing towards the monitor. “He—”

“Yes, Sylvain rejected Nader,” Lysithea cuts in sharply. She steps in, grabbing Felix by his arm and yanking him out of the chair. “Come on. We have to send the third Jaeger or we’re all fucked.”

He knows Lysithea well enough to not protest, even though he is sure that whatever she’s trying to do is not going to work. As they leave LOCCENT and dive into the Shatterdome’s labyrinth of corridors, he cannot help but state, barely containing his ire and helplessness, “He’s no longer able to drift.”

Lysithea gives him a look that is almost compassionate. “Something happened to him, yes. He’s no longer reacting to other pilots, also yes. But you?” She finally stops in front of the door that Felix recognizes straight away - the door to the Drivesuit room.

It dawns on him what she’s trying to do, what LOCCENT agreed to do.

“You can’t be serious.”

She opens the door; the technicians are already waiting inside, preparing his suit for immediate use.

“Your bond is natural. Extremely strong, too,” she says without a hint of doubt. “And we have to send out Armaiti. So please, Felix…”

He thinks of the raging Category IV waiting for them outside. Of the salty ocean water mixed with his tears and blood; of Glenn, ripped out of the Jaeger and out of his life, as he watched it play out, helpless and so incredibly lonely.

Of Sylvain, who has been just as helpless throughout his whole life, pushed into drifts he didn’t want or need, dancing at the thin line between life and death.

Felix doesn’t want him to die. And if they’re together, he might be able to protect him.

“Okay,” he replies, and Lysithea sighs in relief. “Let’s try this.”

* * *

They replace Nader with Felix in record time.

“Fe?” The surprise on Sylvain’s face is genuine, which means that no one told him about this insane plan beforehand. “Why are you here?”

He huffs, exasperated, while technicians attach him to the rig. “Why indeed, Gautier.”

“At this point we can’t be sure what influenced your ability, Sylvain, but if we were to take a wild guess, your last drift had something to do with it,” Claude supplies through the comm instead, sounding much calmer and in charge than before. “Still, you two are true compatible… Or that’s what we hope for.”

They’re not yet connected but the redhead’s worries are written all over his face. “What if—”

“We won’t,” Felix interrupts. “I won’t let you chase the rabbit again.”

The technicians leave. In this moment and place - with the metal walls surrounding them and Jaeger slowly coming to life underneath their feet, with the gentle sound of their breathing amplified through the comm - it feels like they’re the only ones in the world.

“Okay,” Sylvain whispers, whether in reply to Felix’s words or something else entirely, he’s not sure. “Okay.”

Felix feels the sudden urge to hold the other man’s hand.

“Prepare for the neural handshake,” Rodrigue announces. “And boys… Godspeed.”

Fifteen seconds later, they become one.

* * *

This time, drift feels like coming home.

The sudden assault on his senses from their previous connection is replaced with a gradual and almost careful immersion into the shared headspace. They’re not drowning in the vast ocean of experiences and emotions; they let themselves float on the surface instead, content with intertwining their fingers, thoughts, minds.

When Felix opens his eyes, Sylvain is there with him, his presence reassuring in the back of his head.

“They’re stable!” Marianne sounds relieved, her voice high-pitched and shaky, as if she’s holding back her tears. “Their sync is perfect, 98.9% with minor deviations.”

_We’re compatible_ , Sylvain thinks with astonishment even greater than Marianne’s, and Felix can’t help but chuckle out loud, a sound so rare and unexpected that it catches even him off guard.

_Of course we are, idiot._

“Spenta Armaiti, I would love nothing more than to let you celebrate, but Asha and Manah are in a desperate need for backup,” Claude informs them. There’s still some underlying nervousness in his voice and that tells them a lot about the situation on the battlefield. “We’re gonna try to transport you as close as possible, but things are heated in there. Be careful.”

“Yessir,” they reply in unison, relishing in their mutual understanding and drift-induced excitement coursing through their veins. The world around them spins, the deployment gate opens and in no time they’re hoisted into the air by the squadron of Jumphawks, floating above the dark, stormy ocean.

* * *

Jumphawks drop them off right into the battle.

“What the fuck.” Sylvain doesn’t have to say it out loud but the force of habit is stronger, especially when faced with the sight of two monsters before them. With the lack of apparent difference in their size it’s hard to pinpoint their categories; they both tower over the Jaegers, tails whirling in the water, thick, leathery skin still almost spotless despite the continuous attacks from the other two machines.

“Armaiti, a little help here!” Dorothea shouts through the comm as Vohu Manah, caught up in a wrestle with one kaiju, barely dodges the spiky tail of another.

“Let’s take care of Sij first,” comes Byleth’s breathy order. “Sylvain, Felix, think you can distract Cat IV for a bit?”

They act before they are able to reply as they instinctively release the spear - Armaitit’s default weapon - and step in front of Astwihad, covering Manah and Asha from another blow full of sturdy spikes. The tail twists around the weapon before retreating quickly while the enraged kaiju screeches, the sheer air pressure enough to make the Jaeger tremble.

Sylvain chuckles mirthlessly as they ready their stance for the next attack. “Hope you won’t take long, Teach. This one looks feisty.”

Astwihad stops in its tracks and considers them for a moment, spikes covering most of his back and two segmented tails glistening in the dark with the toxic Kaiju Blue. It drops down its upper front limbs to stand on all six, then raises the two tails to point at them menacingly, showing off its neon blue scorpion-like stingers.

“Come on, you showy bastard,” Felix fumes. “Let’s dance.”

The kaiju, as if in reply to his taunt, attacks.

It’s in no way an easy fight; Astwihad is relentless in its offensive, switching between limbs, tails and horns protruding from its head, every scratch leaving an erosive, toxic trail on the surface of the Jaeger. Felix and Sylvain are far from defenseless, though, despite the fact that it’s their first successful drift - years of experience are enough to compensate for that, allow them to rely on instincts and turn the battle into a seemingly smooth yet deadly dance with the monster.

It is clear, however, that with Astwihad’s range and ferocity, they have small chances in winning on their own.

“This is not how I imagined our first date to be,” Sylvain says out loud, as if in reply to his thoughts. In spite of his cheerful voice his breathing is heavier than usual, the drift still taking its toll on him more than on Felix. “But hey, we just have to keep it occupied until Thea or Teach can help.”

As they swing the spear again and finally - _finally_ \- the tip breaks through kaiju’s thick, leathery skin, they think with satisfaction, _keep it occupied we sure can_.

* * *

“Die, you motherfucker!” After what feels like eons, Dorothea’s and Petra’s satisfied cry finally signals the demise of Sij.

They don’t see how the creature falls into the water or how Vohu Manah pierces through its heart with clinical precision; but Petra’s unrestrained exclamation in Dagdan and Jeritza’s quiet chuckle are enough to make them feel the thrill of victory.

Astwihad, aware of its brethren's downfall, resumes its attacks with even more ferocity.

“A little help here, Teach!” Sylvain shouts, trying to dodge another toxic spike. They move fast enough to avoid serious injury, but the spike still lodges itself into the armour close to Felix’s side of the Conn-Pod, joining a few more spikes all over the Jaeger’s main body. “It’s getting angry!”

The monster readies itself for the next jump and they take a defensive stance, prepared to take on another attack. Right before it’s able to pounce, though, something darts through the air and ends up buried deep in kaiju’s eye.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Byleth’s collected voice sounds like music to their ears, even more so when they notice the midnight black Jaeger entering their field of vision. It holds another throwing knife, ready to join the previous, buried in the skull of Astwihad. “You did well, Armaiti. You can leave it to us now.”

The amber of Vohu Manah shines like a beacon of hope, the first shy rays of daybreak coloring its armor in warm reds and oranges as it appears on their other side. “Many thanks,” Petra adds carefully, “for buying time for us.”

Felix didn’t know any of them well - he never thought he would have to, not with him tucked away in the J-Tech and away from the battlefield. He does know them now, though, through the lens of Sylvain’s shared memories, and it’s making him unnaturally fond of the other pilots. It’s… unnerving, really, and he grumbles something in reply, trying and failing to hide his awkwardness. Sylvain, aware of what is going on in his mind, simply chuckles.

As they get shielded by the other Jaegers, LOCCENT contacts them. “Armaiti, fall back,” Rodrigue announces in a tone that suggests he won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. “It’s been enough of a strain for your first drift. We don’t want to push your luck.”

“Yessir,” they reply in unison, the feeling of relief flooding their shared headspace. _We survived_ , a single thought takes over them as they step away from the fight, _we fought Category IV and no one died_.

“I told you it’s gonna be fine, Fe.” Sylvain’s smile is easily palpable through the drift. “I wouldn’t ever lie to you.”

Felix snorts and starts to reply, “As if—”

“Armaiti!” Lysithea’s panicked shout cuts through and in that second they know that something’s very, _very_ wrong. “Eject, right no—!”

Before she’s able to finish, the spikes lodged in the Jaeger light up, the brightness so intense that it blinds them.

The explosion is sudden, brutal. If Sylvain wasn’t gasping for air while crying and vomiting blood, struggling with controlling the giant machine all on his own, the gaping absence of another mind in the headspace leaving him so empty and alone—

_felixfelixfelix wher e are you_

_i’m scared, sylvain i’m_

—he would have noticed the void on his left, the space where Felix stood just a moment ago, half of the Conn-Pod blown up into pieces, only wires and pipes and scraps of metal left in its stead.

There’s white noise in his ears and his head. In the distance, the kaiju finally finds its demise under someone’s axe, its dying shrieks reaching him through the fog of pain. He doesn’t know why he is trying to hold on anymore, so with one last bloody choke and thoughts full of Felix, he lets go.

* * *

The rest is just a blur.

By the time the rescue team manages to get to the scene, Sylvain only barely recognizes that he’s not dead and someone has already detached him from the machine. He thinks he sees the mop of green hair, but his mind is still so far away that he might’ve imagined it.

“Felix.'' Sylvain's voice is coarse as he lets out a harsh whimper. There's blood, tears, and kaiju remains on his face; his body is mutilated, the broken bones of his right arm sticking out grotesquely, blood oozing from countless wounds. He's too far gone to notice his own state, though, as he keeps chanting Felix’s name relentlessly, trying to make sure that his partner is alive. “Please... Fe. Where...”

"Sylvain, look at me." It's Mercedes, his mind registers with a slight delay. She’s stroking his cheek as other medics strap him to the stretcher. It's the first time he's ever seen her cry so openly. "Sylvain...” She swallows as if it hurts her to say the next words. “We’re looking for him. But we have to take care of you in the meantime."

“...Felix,” he says in a whisper. He's too damn tired, fighting against the overwhelming exhaustion; by the feel of it, he’s probably lost so much blood that it’s a small miracle he’s still conscious. Well, Sylvain’s never been good at taking a hint, be it with flirting, bothering other people, hating himself or living. Now he can add dying to the list, too. “Is Felix…?”

Mercie almost lets out a sob.

“I am so sorry, Sylvain… He’s—”

He doesn’t want to listen to that.

Sylvain lets himself be surrounded by the darkness.

* * *

It takes him two days to wake up and another three to be fully conscious.

When he awakens, accompanied by the faint throbbing of a broken arm and concussion-induced headache, he’s greeted by the sight of Rodrigue. Marshal seems defeated, subdued; he lingers in the space between Sylvain and the patient on his left. His vision is still blurry at the edges but the redhead finds himself drawn towards the figure on the other bed, partially obscured by Rodrigue’s hunched back.

His eyes finally focus. When Marshal shifts, he’s able to catch the glimpse of raven black hair and the familiar face.

_They found him. Felix is alive._

With his throat still raw and hurting, the only sound that leaves Sylvain’s mouth is a small whimper.

Rodrigue turns around, surprised by the sudden sound. Some of the tension dissipates from his shoulders when he realizes that Sylvain is awake. He leaves Felix’s bedside and moves closer to the other pilot, clutching a cup of water in his hands.

“Sylvain.” He’s gentle and careful as he helps the redhead sit up and take a couple of sips of water. The relief is immediate.

“How..” Sylvain groans and clears his throat. “How is Fe?”

They’ve been drifting, with a connection strong enough that there’s no way it wouldn’t leave them ghost drifting for at least a few days. But there’s no trace of Felix in his headspace, not even a slightest ounce of lingering emotions or thoughts. The lack of his partner’s presence is more terrifying than the years spent with his head full of strangers.

“He’s…” Rodrigue hesitates with the answer. He glances at Felix with eyes full of despair. “He made it but… the damage he sustained, the strain of the broken drift... “ he trails off and holds his son’s hand. “We’re doing what we can, Sylvain. But he—he’s not responsive.”

Tears roll down Marshal’s cheeks as he slowly breaks down. Sylvain doesn’t know how to react, the reality of the situation weighing him down, plunging him even deeper into anguish.

“I can’t feel him,” he whispers with finality, looking at Felix’s resting face. His vision is blurry again, the tears welling in his eyes, but he’s too tired, too empty to cry properly. “His mind… is too far away.”

Once again, Felix is outside of his reach. Once again, he’s the reason it happened.

Once again, it would’ve been better if he were dead.

He’s brought back by the hand clasped tightly on his shoulder. Rodrigue is hovering over him, staring straight into his eyes.

“I can’t lose yet another son. I can’t lose Felix,” he pleads. “Please help me bring him back, Sylvain. If there’s anyone who can do that, I know it’s you.”

* * *

It takes Claude and Mercedes to come up with a plan that has any chance of success.

“It’s simple,” Mercie explains in a soft voice. Her presence alone makes him believe that whatever they’re going to do, it’s going to be alright. “Coma is usually a result of trauma, lack of oxygen, drug poisoning or some other physical injury. But Felix’s case is different because - from what we can gather - it’s not physical at all.”

“It’s the drift.” Claude paces around the room, browsing through the stacks of papers in his hands. “Or the unnatural breach of the drift that he had to endure not only once, but twice.”

Sylvain doesn’t have to look far for the right memory; it is the most vivid one that he remembers from their failed drift. “Glenn.”

Mercie nods and continues. “There’s no research available on this, but any guess is better than nothing. And that said…” she trails off and picks up a heavy package from the floor. The moment she opens the box, Sylvain recognizes the device right away.

“Pons?” There’s a note of nervousness clearly present in his words. “You want me to drift with him?”

Mercedes fiddles with the cables of the machine that has been the sole reason for misery in his life. It feels surreal. What they seem to be proposing seems even more so.

“If Felix’s consciousness was lost during a drift,” she says with a sad smile, “then maybe we will be able to find it again during a drift.”

Claude steps closer, sitting down on Sylvain’s bed and sneaking an arm around him. The hug is gentle, leaving him an easy way out in case it’s too much.

Sylvain doesn’t shake it off.

“You can say no, Syl.” Claude carefully chooses his words. “Diving into the unknown is the last thing we want to ask of you, after everything you went through.”

He appreciates having that choice. After all, even though he’s become an experiment once again, their concern for him is real. To them, his well-being means _something_ \- and that’s more than his father ever felt for him.

The decision is easy to make, despite his fear and apprehension.

He’s not going to give Felix up.

* * *

The first try ends in failure.

There’s no response from Felix; the neural handshake doesn’t last more than a few seconds before Sylvain is gasping for air and clutching at the wires.

The darkness - the feeling of rejection - reminds him of Miklan.

He doesn’t mention that to anyone.

* * *

The next attempts are futile, but leave room for hope. They only last minutes, but with each try they feel more like proper drifts, like he’s connecting with a person. Nevertheless, the headspace feels distant, void of any traces of the other man.

* * *

Soon, it gets easier.

Before anyone notices, Sylvain is able to spend hours in the emptiness of the drift, finding scarce fragments of Felix’s soul slipping between his own clenched fingers.

* * *

Sylvain doesn’t count the days anymore.

He’s oscillating between the real world - the infirmary - and Felix’s headspace every day. He doesn’t notice Mercedes’ concerned gaze, doesn’t react to Rodrigue’s pleas or Claude’s suggestions.

Pons is the only bridge between him and Felix, and he’s not going to give it up.

But he can’t deny that he’s tired; the constant drift is taking its toll on him, rendering him useless after each new session, numbing both his body and mind. The daily walk to the cafeteria is enough to leave him breathless - enough to have his friends supervise him and make sure that he’s not going to hurt himself.

All the while, Felix sleeps.

_Maybe death would be more merciful_ , Sylvain catches himself thinking sometimes, as he sits next to the infirmary bed and watches the other. It’s been weeks and he still hasn’t found Felix even once. The scraps of his thoughts float freely in between them in and out of drift, sometimes incomplete and broken like glitched recordings, sometimes quiet and fleeting like whispers in the wind. On good days, if Sylvain focuses enough, he can feel the gentle brush of nonexistent fingers against his skin, so delicate it can barely be called a touch.

“Felix,” he calls to the midnight sky of their headspace, throat raw and tears welling in his eyes. The sky replies with Felix’s half-finished laugh, as if mocking him. “Please, come back.”

The rest is silence.

Sylvain lies down, tumbles down through the ground and crumbles, parts of himself disappearing into the void of the drift. His body is probably crying, but here, he just feels empty. It’s too much, he’s too tired, it’s not working, why is he even trying—

_Syl._

His breath hitches in his throat.

_Syl._

For the first time, there’s a semblance of will, of consciousness, behind the voice.

“Felix!” he cries out. He’s reaching towards it with incomplete hands, starts climbing back, the sudden and unexpected hope giving him enough strength to stabilize the drift again and—

“That’s enough, Sylvain.”

He opens his eyes.

He’s crouching on the floor. Petra and Dorothea are holding him - and he’s thankful for that because his whole body is shaking from the strain, not able to hold his weight anymore - while Claude disconnects him from Pons. There’s wetness on his face, he notices with a weird sense of post-drift detachment as he reaches to wipe it away.

It’s red.

“You’re bleeding,” Claude adds in a stern voice, probably to make him realize the gravity of the situation. Sylvain doesn’t, really, but his friend doesn’t need to know that. “For fuck’s sake, Syl, what the fuck were you trying to do? I told you not to drift without one of us supervising you.”

The redhead doesn’t even pretend he’s sorry. “Fe... “ he tries to say despite his raw and bloody throat; Petra offers him some water and he accepts with relief. It doesn’t do much to lessen the pain but at least it helps to diminish the overwhelming iron aftertaste of his own blood. “...Fe answered.”

With his head free from Pons, the two women lift him from the floor and onto the bed right next to Felix’s. He lets out a heavy exhale, only now realizing how little energy he has left after the drift.

“Sylvie, that’s great news,” Dorothea replies with a smile while gently wiping away the bloody remnants of his recklessness with a wet cloth. “He’s healing. And you helped him, as much as you could.”

He tries to add something more - that it’s not enough yet, that the reply was very faint, that Felix is still alone there, trapped in his head - but he’s tired and his mind is foggy. The coolness of the cloth and Thea’s melodic voice slowly lull him to sleep.

He’s tired.

He misses Felix.

“We can’t let you drift again,” Sylvain thinks he hears Claude say. He wants to disagree, to tell him that he’s wrong, but…

_Sleep, you idiot_ , Felix whispers lovingly into his ear.

Just five more minutes. He’ll wake up and argue then.

* * *

Despite the lingering exhaustion, Sylvain slowly stirs awake in the middle of the night.

For a long moment he just lies there, breathing, existing, trying to return to the sweet oblivion of sleep. The more he tries, though, the clearer it becomes that falling asleep is not an option; not when he’s restless and skittish, the nervous energy thrumming right under his skin.

At least tonight he isn’t plagued with the usual nightmares - the jumbled mess of memories of his past, their last drift and images of Felix’s potential death.

He sighs and rolls onto his back. He’s spent so many nights in the infirmary, staring at the same ceiling over and over again, that at this point it feels more familiar to him than his own room. Despite injuries being an integral part of his visits, he still associates this place with warmth and comfort; Mercedes made sure of that.

When he tries to move again, Sylvain realizes that someone is holding his hand. More than that, the calloused thumb seems to trace small, circular patterns on his skin.

He _knows_ who lies next to him. He knows, and yet, he’s too scared to look at the other man, too scared of disappointment in case it’s another cruel trick of his mind. He doesn’t think he’s ready to have his hopes crushed again.

But he needs to know, so he asks while staring into the ceiling.

“...Felix?”

The finger stops.

“Hey.” The voice that answers him is raspy and hoarse due to the numerous days of disuse, but also undeniably Felix’s. Sylvain, still in daze, feels something in his chest tighten at just this one short word. “Syl—” A cough, then Felix tries again. “Sylvain?”

He’s about to reply, but the words die in his throat. What comes out instead is a muffled whimper.

He’s crying.

“Fe,” he manages to choke out as he finally dares to look at the other man. Sylvain is met with concerned gaze and that slight frown that he’s got used to seeing every day in the last months, the one that has been absent from Felix's sleeping face. He’s beautiful and he’s awake, with raven black hair spread on the pillow, chapped lips and dark circles under his eyes. Sylvain silently thanks the Goddess for bringing him back.

Instead of trying to put all of his emotions into words, he translates them into actions - he shifts closer to the other man, cups his cheek and finally kisses Felix.

It’s brief and chaste, a mere brush of lips against each other, but it feels like coming back home, like a breath of fresh air after years of captivity; and when Felix slips his fingers into his hair, bringing him down for a proper kiss, Sylvain’s heart sings.

“You idiot,” Felix breathes against his lips, just as lovingly as he did in his mind. “How long have you been drifting and looking for me?”

Sylvain knows what the other man is asking about. At that moment, though, he can't help but think about his long journey, about each and every drift he had to endure, about solitude and longing and slowly patching up their friendship until it blossomed into _this_. He chuckles and brings their foreheads together, letting the ghost drift carry his thoughts right into Felix's mind.

“My whole life, Fe,” he says out loud. “My whole life.”

**Author's Note:**

> ....aaand, thank you for reading! if you'd like to scream about sylvain gautier with me, feel free to hit me up on [twitter](https://twitter.com/jikkyuu)!


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